


Counting Tries

by StoryCloud



Category: Gregory Horror Show
Genre: Family, Gen, Headcanon, Unease, gregory's son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryCloud/pseuds/StoryCloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Now Gregory wasn’t the kind of mouse to keep track of dates or numbers, at least not for long. But this was the fifth time. In two weeks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Tries

Now Gregory wasn’t the kind of mouse to keep track of dates or numbers, at least not for long. But this was the fifth time. In two weeks. All together it was the tenth time that a certain small being had tried to escape. The Graveyard was shrouded in mist. Thick and cloud-like, it hovered just about the knee as he hobbled by, the light of his candle showing the way, casting crooked shadows against the tombstones. He raised the holder up, eyeing the line of trees dotted through the dark. Wolves howled in the distance, and the chill of the night grew ever harsher.

“Fiztwiiiiliam.” He called, his voice carrying over the mist. “Where are you, my sweet?” A slow turn, and he shone the candle to lit up the left row of stones. Nothing. His eyes slid left and right, scrutinising. “Come out, come out, _wherever you are_.”

Further out. This wasn’t working. But, he kept himself calm, and carried one with the pleasant tone despite the situation. It wasn’t totally faux... “Come here, I promise, I’m not angry...” He had to chuckle, then. “Oh, trust me, I’m nothing compared to Grandma...”

A little shuffle.

“Huh?!”

He stalked towards the direction he’d heard it; a muddle set of headstones eastward. “Come on out, Fitzwilliam. There’s no use hiding any more –“

He wasn’t back there, either. Hmph. Little guy was getting crafty.

A twig snapped. A little further ahead. He saw something move in the dark, ducking behind a tree. “...” A smooth smile drawing across his face, Gregory approached.

“Come to Papa!” With a quick flick of the wrist he’d held out the candle to the base of the tree, side-stepping around to cut off the tiny figure. The mouseling ducked away, emitting a small squeak.

“There you are.” Gregory drawled, lightly. “Papa was _worried.”_

“I’m sorry, Papa.” The child wailed, hands pressed to his face. Doused in tears, as usual. Gregory forced down a scoff, hand on his hip,

“If you were _sorry_ , you wouldn’t keep doing this, Fitzwilliam.”

He plucked the boy up by the scruff and bundled him under his arm. Fitzwilliam whimpered, briefly, before going quiet, resigning himself to fiddle with his hands and duck his head. With that, Gregory began trekking back to the house, shaking his head.

“Don’t be mad, Papa...”

“Oh, Papa’s mad.” Gregory muttered flatly. Fitzwilliam’s whimpers turned to fully fledged sobbed and Gregory paused, huffing loudly.

“Oh, don’t start with that. You can’t be running out into the forest on your own! Papa says _no_ , Fitzwilliam!”

The mouseling continued to sniffle all the way inside. Gregory breathed in and put on a nicer tone, though it didn’t at all hide his real frustration. Back to the boy’s room, with the scribble drawings and trio of oddly coloured toys. He plopped him down on the bed and tossed the blanket pointedly over him, stalking back to the door and grasping the handle. Fitzwilliam watched him, tears slipping down his face.

Gregory sighed, and moved back, placing a kiss on his forehead and cupping the little face in his hands. “All right, we’ll forget this happened. Papa’s going to speak to Granny, so he needs you to stay _here_. All right...?”

The mouseling sniffed, and nodded, managing a weak’ ‘hm-hm’.

“That’s my sweet little boy.” Gregory tucked the blanket around his shoulders again, moving to the door. He glanced back at the mouseling once. He was watching, uncertainly.

Gregory shut the door, and made sure to check he’d locked it three times before he departed.


End file.
